Chicken Harry Christmas (Patreon)

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!! 

I love you all lots, thank you for being here for me :) Here is a lot of fluffy, chicken harry warmth

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“I haven’t had a good Christmas in. . .in about four years, I think.” 

The words Harry had uttered to her on a chilly November night, had struck a chord in Y/N’s heart. She knows the the Christmases before he moved to the mountain side were spent attempting to make his friends happy while being brushed aside himself. And the Christmases when he was on the mountain side  -- well, the thought of Harry alone on any holiday brings tears to her eyes, even more so when he admitted that he still decorated. So not only was he alone, but he was alone in a house with Christmas lights strung up, and a tree made up all pretty, just for him and Franklin. 

That’s why she leans up, pushes a kiss against his mouth, slips down his body and sinks her mouth around his cock while vowing to give him the best Christmas he could have ever asked for. 

It starts like a proper TV network special, December 1st. She shows up at his apartment not only with ten separate Christmas movies (ranging from cutesie cartoons, to live action Christmas miracles, and even threw in a few Christmas-y horror films as well), but a Christmas tree, ornaments, lights, and holiday decor, plus maybe three dozen cinnamon scented pine cones. Harry had only been expecting a movie night but as soon as he opens the door and sees her lugging a huge box and about seven different bags, he laughed brightly, taking all of the bags for her in his massive hands, “Oh, Pet, what’ve you got here?” 

“The beginning to a perfect Christmas!” She had cheered. 

That night they decorated the whole flat and the tree while bonding over a mutual love for the Nutcracker ballet before Y/N made hot chocolate for them both and they plopped down onto the couch, watched Black Christmas even though it was a little less Christmas spirit and more Halloween-ish (and Y/N couldn’t say that she didn’t secretly enjoy each time he tucks his face into her throat at the more gory bits). When she asked him if it was a good start to the holiday he had given her an ecstatic yes, before peppering her face in kisses. 

(Banoffee and Franklin both get their feet painted red and green so that they could walk over pieces of paper she could turn into ornaments -- Banoffee purred from the attention, Franklin pecked Harry’s finger so Y/N had to kiss it better.)

The next time they’re able to see each other is December 4th, which is when Y/N decides that it's time to utilize his baking knowledge and make elaborate Christmas goodies to hand out to  the people on his floor (his neighbors were very welcoming and she loved them all for it) and their friends. This baking extravaganza included white chocolate dipped peppermint cookies, a snowman shaped cake, peppermint bark, sugar cookie truffles, and a vanilla roll cake. Harry is a great baker, very meticulous in his craft, with his brows knitted and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He was powdered down with flour, an apron tied around him with a neat little bow in the back, and she had pleaded with him to change out of his nice suit to instead an older cotton t-shirt and plaid pajama pants (that costed maybe one of her new books in school). 

He teaches her how to decorate with icing and sprinkles, and even shows her how to make and utilize fondant icing. She loves watching him doing something he loves; he’s passionate, his eyes lit up and excited, going over steps, wrapping his arms around her and placing his hands on top of her own to show her exactly how she’s met to do something. Her heart feels full as he plates the sweets with a smile, and he lets her write on the little gift tags, while feeding her the cookies and a piece of the cake, grinning when she gushes about how good it tasted. 

It was her turn to pepper him in kisses, on his cheeks, on his forehead, his nose, his eyebrows until he’d been a mess of giggles, “Stop baby, we need t’a finish or m’going to get. . .worked up. . .you know?” 

“I want you to,” she had told him, before she drug him closer to her by the waistband of his pajama pants, and sure enough, after quite a few more deepened kisses to his mouth, Harry was hard. 

So Harry hikes her up onto the counter and fucks her there, getting her covered in flour, and she reminds him how beautiful he is, how much she loves him, and he revels in it, bucks into her a little harder with each declaration of her adoration of him and he whispers in return how much he loves her again and again. He cums pretty early that night, embarrassed by his love stiffy that hadn’t given him the chance to “fuck her thoroughly” but he makes up with it by sinking to his knees and burying his face in between her legs. 

December 7th, Y/N surprises Harry with two tickets to the light displays downtown, and his eyes light up like a kid going to Disney. Though he does pout for a minute, “M’supposed to be surprising you with Christmas goodies, Love, but you’re doing all the work.” Y/N could only titter in response, sliding the ticket into his hand. 

“Because you deserve wonderful things and the best Christmas in the world, so I’m doing everything in my power to give you that.” 

For a moment, it seems like the realization hits Harry then that this had been her promise at the very beginning. She could see the wheels churning, and she watches as he visibly grows softer, hugging her closer and murmuring sweet little nothings into her ear. Y/N thinks she might burst with how much love she’s got stored up inside of her for him. In this moment she makes a mental note to get Niall an amazing present for dragging her across the country to work. 

That night, Y/N is enamored. If she could capture the moment and put it in a frame and hang it all over her home, then she would; the way the thousands of lights glitter in his eyes is beautiful. So she just makes him pose for what might have been a thousand pictures to appease herself, enduring his laughter when her teeth begin to chatter in the cold, and feeling a warmth envelope her when he murmurs, “I love you,” to her. When they get home after a sufficient amount of oo-ing and ahh-ing over the displays, Harry promises to warm her up once they get home, which involves coaxing her into a new flannel sheeted mattress, flopping the thick comforter over her, and allowing her to shove her cold feet against his legs (by allowing she means he’s whining and pouting, “Stop it, baby, you’re g’na freeze me!”). 

December 12th, Harry calls Y/N and asks if she’s free after class. When she says yes, she’s a little jittery, wondering what ominous question that was, only to get out of her lecture to be met with Harry waiting outside of the building, a bright red envelope with a green bow stuck on top. “Harry Styles,” she began, squinting her eyes at him, taking the envelope from his hand, “What’s this then?” 

“A surprise,” he responds, “Open it, open it.” 

When she peels the envelope open, it reveals two tickets to go see the Nutcracker ballet and Y/N squeals, just about tackling him with a hug that nearly knocks them both on their bum, “You deserve the best Christmas ever just as much.” 

They sit at the mezzanine, Y/N’s snuggled underneath Harry’s arm reliving her childhood while he gently caressed her bicep with the tips of his fingers. He kisses her forehead every so often and it doesn’t fail to make her feel soft. 

December 16th, they help wrap each other’s presents, and by helping, she means she does a semi good job on the gift he’s sending overseas to his old housekeeper and looks over to see a perfectly packaged and wrapped gift she’s giving Niall. It involves a lot of pouting, a lot of redos, and a lot of Harry telling her that it doesn’t matter how nice it looks, it's just the fact someone took time to wrap it that counts, to which she tells him to hush up and teach her how to do it so good. Mostly because she wants the present that she got for him to be very nice and wrapped perfectly. 

So he teaches her how, with Eartha Kitt coming through his speakers, and she gets a little bit better, but Harry still kisses her hands dramatically and says, “These puppies make gold from dust.” 

“More like dust from gold.” She interjected but Harry merely giggles and kisses them again. 

December  24th, Y/N had just flown back in from visiting family for the holidays and Harry came to get her at the train station. He’d wrapped her up in his arms in true feature length film fashion, considering this was the longest time they’ve spent apart in a while. Harry took her home, surprised her with matching fair isle pajamas and reindeer socks, had a full Christmas meal prepared (complete with a Banoffee pie), just enough for the two of them and leftovers for Niall if he wanted them. They ate, Y/N told him about her trip home, and he told her about his time with his mum and sister (who came to visit for the holidays). There are two presents under the tree, one for him from her and one for her from him (she didn’t let him do any more than that, even though he’d asked tiressly several times if he could get her more but she was adamant in refusing -- she didn’t want him to feel like he had when his friends had expected a ton). 

Y/N watches Harry open up her present for him with a jittery excitement. The time she wasn’t spending with him, she was making him a quilt. It had been three months in the making a lot of buying and bartering shirts of certain things that he liked, finding neutral colors that went with it, learning how to quilt in the fucking first place -- but the late nights and needle pricks on her finger were worth watching his eyes light up as he unfolds it, “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes prickling with tears as he looks up to her, darting himself forward and wrapping his arms around her tightly, “I love you. Love you so fucking much.” 

He reaches for her present beneath the tree and hands them to her, his eyes still watery from his gift, “C’mon, open yours n’get emotional so m’not the only cry baby,” he tells her and she laughs, peeling the paper open carefully, revealing a painting. 

A beautiful, beautiful painting. 

It’s a whole scene; his old living room, a fireplace so realistic that she could practically hear it crackling, Franklin resting on her spot on the rug, a rumpled makeshift pallet bed of sheets on the floor that she recognizes as the place he’d slept that first night they had spent together. And on the couch, painted down to the last microfiber, was a form wrapped in a comforter, hair poking out that she recognizes to be her own but the rest of her swaddled. The coffee table was painted, the same center piece, the caramel cookie box that she had made for him popped open, a few crumbs scattered around it. She feels like she’s been transported back into that moment, feels the warmth of the room, the smell, the way she felt being there with him -- so in love. 

“This is the moment that I realized I was in love with you.” He says gently and Y/N only notices that she’s crying, when a tear drips off her cheek and onto the back of her hand, “And flip it over?” She looks at him, brows furrowed as she flips the canvas to reveal a key, taped to the canvas, and her mouth drops open, “Now I’m not saying you have to move in,” he tells her, “But I want you to know, you’re welcome here always. My home is your home.” 

There they sat, both crying, pouting at each other until one of them caves (it’s Y/N) to slip her arms around him and burrow her face into his neck. They whisper how much they love each other again and again, giggling, holding each other close. This was certainly Y/N’s best Christmas ever, but that wasn’t exactly what she’d been gunning for this year. 

So she asks. 

“Was it good? Did you like your Christmas?” 

Harry nods, wiping away his tears, and smiling wide. 

“This is the best Christmas I could have ever experienced.”